


Four Score and Ten

by molo (esteefee)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: April Showers Challenge, First Time, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-06
Updated: 2008-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/molo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Four score and ten years ago, Hutch and me set forth in this metropolis in order to clean the streets of scum like you."  Starsky felt a huge satisfaction as he finished cuffing the perp, who was looking dazed from either the punch to the jaw or Starsky's brilliant elocution.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Score and Ten

  
"Four score and—" Starsky put down his arms for a second and looked at Hutch.

"Ten."

"— _ten_ years ago, Hutch and me set forth in this metropolis in order to clean the streets of scum like you." Starsky felt a huge satisfaction as he finished cuffing the perp, who was looking dazed from either the punch to the jaw or Starsky's brilliant elocution. "You, my friend, are just one in a long line of bad guys to suffer the slings and arrows of our outrageous detecting abilities."

"Well said, Starsk. I think that was your best ever." Hutch grinned at him and chomped on his gum, his big shoulders bunching in a nice way when he reached down and hauled Vinorka to his feet.

Starsky looked. He could look all he wanted; he'd given himself permission a long time ago, because nobody ever seemed to notice, least of all Hutch. Or maybe Hutch even liked it, thinking Starsky was just admiring him for other reasons. Didn't matter—the big blond didn't have a clue.

"Thank you very much, Sergeant Hutchinson." Starsky gave a short bow. "Now if you will kindly read Mr. Vinorka his rights, I have an appointment with the water closet."

"You got it, partner." Hutch started on the Miranda warning, and Starsky made his way to the bathroom in the back of the bar. He had to hop over two broken bar stools to do it—they'd made a real mess of the place bringing Vinorka down. Still, Starsky would lay odds the owner would be grateful to them anyway, seeing as the protection racket he'd been paying into for the past year was now officially out of business.

The bathroom looked familiar, just like most bar bathrooms usually did, except Starsky was sure he remembered being here before, drunk out of his mind, after that day two years ago when he caught Hutch with what's-her-name, the blonde with the progressive attitude about fucking everything in pants.

Shit. This really was the place, because Starsky distinctly remembered letting himself get backed into the left-hand stall by that scrawny guy—Jesus, a _guy—_ with a moustache and blue eyes. He hadn't looked much like Hutch, but it was dark, and Starsky was drunk, and who cared? After everything that had gone down, Starsky decided he finally didn't anymore. He'd pretty much thought their partnership was over, anyway, and had been trying to figure if he could retire on a half-pension and move somewhere cheap like Chico.

It had been that bad.

Starsky took a piss and, just out of curiosity, went into the left-hand stall. He got a little hard remembering it—the guy, what the hell was his name? Sandy. That was it. Christ, what a stupid name, except Starsky hadn't cared because Sandy's mouth was hot and wet, and he really loved to suck cock.

Starsky had looked down and wondered what it would feel like to do it. To get down on his knees and suck Hutch's cock. That had been the image to push him over. Afterward, Sandy had slipped out without even wanting to be jerked off in return—nervous about getting caught—and Starsky had been left standing there with his limp dick hanging out and the feeling like he was drifting out to sea.

There was a knock at the door. "Hey, Starsk, shake it and zip it. We gotta go book this guy."

"Yessir, right away, sir," Starsky muttered under his breath. He handled the first half okay, but zipping it was a little bit of a problem. He crammed himself in anyway and washed his hands before going back outside.

"Mr. Dinardo came by, took one look at the place, and almost started crying. But he seemed happy as hell when he saw Vinorka here all wrapped up." Hutch flashed a wicked smile at Vinorka, who was slumped down in one of the few remaining unbroken chairs.

"Well, let's skedaddle so Dinardo can get busy with the clean up." Starsky pulled Vinorka to his feet and led the way out the door.

Starsky heard Hutch say behind him, "'The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what we did here.'"

"Amen, partner."  


ooOoo

  
"We need a new shtick," Starsky said over rice noodles and shrimp that night at his apartment.

"Hey, you're the showman. I'm just the straight man. But, hmm." Hutch tapped his finger against his lower lip, which just drew Starsky's attention there, and gave him a bad idea that he pushed right out of his head.

"What about Roosevelt?" Hutch said, "He gave a great speech after Pearl Harbor." Hutch's voice went deep. "'Always will we remember the character of the onslaught against us.'"

"Good one." Starsky slurped up his noodles and tilted back his head to suck the last one down. When he looked over, Hutch was staring at him funny. "What? Sauce on my chin?"

"Yeah." Hutch looked away and shoved a napkin in his direction. "So, this makes an even four hundred, you realize."

"Four hundred whats?"

"Four hundred criminals we have apprehended altogether, you and I."

"You and me..."

"No, you and _I—"_

 __"No," Starsky said patiently, "I mean, you and me, we've done a lot. Apprehended a _lot_. The bad guys go down, and here we are after four score and ten—"

"Naw, just ten, Starsky."

"Ten years is a long time, though, and here we are still floating."

"Still floating." Hutch smiled softly down at his beer. The smile just kind of did something to Starsky's guts.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

Something must've shown in his voice, because Hutch jerked his head up and stared at him.

"Starsk," Hutch said after a long second, sounding a little garbled. The whole exchange was making Starsky feel weird, like he wanted to jump out of his skin.

"That's my name," he said quickly, trying to get out of whatever was swamping them. "Hey, you want the rest of your noodles?"

Hutch handed his carton over and cleared his throat. "How about this: 'We shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, in order to assure the survival and the success of liberty.'"

"Oh, nice." Starsky liked the way Hutch talked. Everything sounded so important the way he said it. But it was even better when the words matched up to the sound. "What's that from?"

"J.F.K.'s inaugural speech."

"You just happen to know all these speeches?" Starsky leaned back on the couch and spread his legs. He rested his hand on his full belly.

"No, I memorized some stuff."

Gold flashed in the corner of Starsky's eye—Hutch, ducking his head.

"Yeah? How come?" Starsky turned to face him.

"You know." Hutch waved his hand. Redness crept up his neck like a slow march of fire ants. Fascinated, Starsky kept staring, and Hutch's flush deepened, his ears going pink.

"Just for me?" Starsky asked. "What, you go to the library and look these things up?"

Hutch shrugged.

"Huh."

"What?" Hutch snapped.

"Hey, don't get your panties in a twist. I'm real—" Starsky stopped dead on the word _flattered._ Jesus, what was he thinking, saying that?

Hutch seemed as confused as he was, because his brow was crinkled as he turned to look at Starsky. The pink on his cheeks was making the color of his eyes deeper, like clear blue stones. Starsky couldn't look away.

"There's something I've been wondering," Starsky said, ignoring the hard thumping in his chest that was pure panic.

"What?"

"It's gonna sound stupid," Starsky warned.

"Like that's a change." Hutch gave him a quick, nervous grin.

Somehow that made it easier. Both that Hutch was nervous, too, and that he was trying to give Starsky crap just like always.

"What if—I'm just saying as a possibility—what if I told you—" Starsky's voice cut out as if someone had lifted the needle right off the record.

"You can tell me anything, Starsk. You know that," Hutch said quietly.

"You won't hold it against me?"

Hutch rolled his eyes at him—actually rolled his eyes, which made Starsky want to laugh, except he thought he might throw up if he did.

He tried to come at it from a back route. "I was real mad at you one time. You know the time."

Hutch swallowed and nodded abruptly.

"I got drunk. And something happened, I did something—this was over at Dinardo's, which is why I'm remembering it today—" Starsky dropped his head. "See, there was this guy..."

"Yeah? What guy?"

Starsky could tell by Hutch's puzzled voice that he wasn't getting it, so he looked straight at Hutch and said, "Doesn't matter who. Didn't matter. He wasn't _you_."

Hutch blinked and his mouth opened with a click. Starsky made himself not look away, even though he wanted to, badly, because this was it. He'd put it all out there, and now it was up to Blondie to figure out what it all would mean.

"You-you did something. With him."

Starsky jerked a nod.

"Does that—" Hutch shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. His beer bottle was dangling from the fingers of his other hand, like he might drop it any second. Finally, he said, real low, "Do you mean to say it could be anyone, as long as it wasn't me?"

That was the last thing Starsky expected to hear. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Because of what I did," Hutch said. "Because I was such an ass—"

" _Because_ of that, that's why I finally fucking figured it out, Hutch." Starsky tried to keep from yelling. "Christ, you're making no sense at all."

" _I'm_ not?" That was a little more like it. Hutch sounded pissed. "You're telling me the thing with Kira made you decide to do something like that, and it's okay as long as it's not me—"

"That's _not_ what I'm sayin'—"

"Because that would make perfect sense. Just perfect. I can't believe...after all this time...and you didn't even _tell_ me."

This wasn't going well at all. Except it was, because they were pissed and griping and fighting just like always, as if Starsky hadn't just dropped a bomb.

"I didn't tell you because I was still mad, all right? But that's way behind us. So, I'm telling you now."

"Why?" Hutch said, sounding exasperated. Then Starsky watched understanding suddenly smack him in the forehead. "Oh."

"Yeah." Starsky crossed his arms.

"God, Starsk—" Hutch bit his lip. "I...I need another beer for this," he muttered, pushing himself off the couch and leaving Starsky sitting there feeling like an idiot. Except a good kind of idiot. Because he'd done it.

He was damned proud of himself. No matter how things turned out, it was a huge relief. He'd kept his secret for two years from his closest friend, and it was out now.

"Here." Hutch nudged another beer into his hand and sat down again. They both turned toward each other on the couch at the same moment, and Starsky had to grin.

"Okay, so?" he said when Hutch just stared at him.

"I wish I'd memorized a speech for this," Hutch said sheepishly. "I'm not good at making words up on my own."

Starsky could feel himself flushing a little. "Well, there's that Martin Luther King one. Always a crowd pleaser."

Hutch blinked and suddenly got a determined look, like right before he'd charged through the door of the bar that morning. "Yeah, that's a good one for it. I have...I've had a dream. I just don't know what to do with it, Starsk. It's just so damned out there—I mean completely crazy. But I see it sometimes," Hutch looked away. "Sometimes it's all that gets me up in the morning after a bad night. And you're in it. I mean, obviously—" He waved his hand. "It's just, where we are right now, who we are, after who we've been..." He trailed off and looked confused all of a sudden.

"It's good. You're doing good," Starsky said encouragingly.

"Am I?" Hutch gave a little snort of laughter. "You set the bar pretty low, buddy."

"Well, I figured you need the help."

"Thanks." There went the eye-roll again. "But do you get me?"

"Not all the way," Starsky admitted, putting his beer down next to Hutch's.

"I'm not-I'm not worried anymore, Starsk. I used to be, all the time—I was pretty sure I'd wake up one day and have lived my whole _life,_ and I'd still be—" Hutch stopped again and rubbed his thumb between his eyebrows. "Alone. But I haven't worried about that in a long time. A really long time. Not since you came out of that goddamned coma."

Starsky felt his chest warming right up. "So, this dream of yours..."

"I-I think we're almost there," Hutch said, his voice so low Starsky had to lean in to hear it. "I think...I can't tell you I know what's going to happen, or how, but it doesn't seem so impossible anymore. And I don't know when that started being true. But if you...I mean, who was that guy?" Hutch suddenly sounded pissed again.

Starsky came back to himself with a jolt; he'd somehow forgotten what he'd let on to Hutch. Except Hutch was staring at him intently, and he reached out and gripped Starsky's arm like he was afraid he would bolt.

"I was drunk," Starsky said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "But I remember some things, like...I liked it. And the thing I remember best was...I really wished it was you."

" _Jesus_ ," Hutch said hoarsely. "Jesus, Starsk—"

Starsky mouth felt gummy, but he found himself talking anyway, words just tumbling out like crazy, like Hutch's eyes were pulling them out of him. "I wanted...I wanted you to be there. I wanted to do for you like he was doing for me. And afterward I didn't think about _her_ anymore, I wasn't pissed anymore, because I felt like I'd gotten even with you by messing around with him. Because you messed around on _me_ , first."

Christ, Starsky hadn't even realized that was what was going on at the time, but it felt true right now, looking at Hutch, who was staring at him like he hung the moon.

"I know I said I was sorry before, but I'll say it again," Hutch said. "I was such a damned fool." His hand let go to drift down to Starsky's wrist. Starsky could feel Hutch's thumb rubbing there on the inside, right on the tender piece of skin above his pulse, which skyrocketed at the touch. How could such a simple thing feel so damned good?

"Aw, you can't help it. I think your mom dropped you on your soft spot."

Hutch laughed, his grin so wide that Starsky wanted to freeze it that way. Except then he found himself leaning over to cover it with his mouth.

Hutch wasn't ready for him, he could tell, and the sharp edge of one of his teeth caught against Starsky's lip for a second. Hutch made a funny, apologetic sound and tilted his head, and just like that it turned into a real kiss, Hutch's tongue chasing Starsky's back into his mouth for a sweet few seconds before they both pulled away.

Starsky's upper lip felt weird, tingly from the brush of Hutch's neatly trimmed moustache. His stomach felt strange, too—a little icy, but hot at the same time. He couldn't quite figure if he was terrified or completely turned on.

Then he heard Hutch breathing fast, saw the way Hutch's eyes had gone dark and intent—a little scared, too, but determined—and Starsky's cock decided he was way past turned on and now into desperate.

When Hutch leaned in again, Starsky moved to meet him.

This time the kiss turned into kisses, with Hutch pulling him down on top of his chest and wrapping both arms around Starsky's back. Starsky squirmed a little to avoid kneeing Hutch in the balls, and felt the warm lump of Hutch's cock pressing against his hip.

Starsky had a spontaneous three seconds of being completely weirded out by it, and then Hutch started kissing him again. That was when Starsky remembered what he'd imagined in that bar bathroom.

He got it now, what Hutch was trying to say before—it didn't seem so impossible anymore, because they were here now, kissing, touching each other a little frantically, hands clumsy with disbelief.

Starsky pushed up, their mouths making a little pop as he pulled away, and stared Hutch in the eye.

"I want to do it. Like I said before, I want to do for you."

Hutch's breath came out in a _whoosh_ and he looked dismayed. "Starsk, you don't have to _do_ anything at all. Not until you're—"

Starsky reached down and put his palm right on Hutch's cock. Hutch's teeth came together and he moaned softly.

Starsky felt a snicker starting. Hutch stared up at him in disbelief.

"You're crazy," Hutch said breathlessly.

"Good kind of crazy? Or bad kind of crazy? 'Cause I don't want to—"

"The best kind of crazy." Hutch grabbed him and kissed him again. "You've always been the very best kind of crazy, buddy."

Starsky grinned and closed his hand just to hear Hutch make that breathless little moan again. Then Starsky pulled up his courage and slid off the couch to his knees.

"Oh, God," Hutch said, his head falling back. "You can't be serious."

"C'mon, scoot forward or this ain't gonna work," Starsky said, hoping he wasn't jinxing himself.

He waited until Hutch shifted his butt forward, and then he undid Hutch's belt and pants. When Starsky carefully peeled down Hutch's boxers, he got his first real look at Hutch's cock.

He'd seen it before, of course, out of the corner of his eye in the showers or the john. And once when he'd accidentally walked in on Hutch and his blonde flavor of the week. Starsky had gotten one good look while he was frozen in the doorway with a six-pack in his hand. The image had been burned into his brain—the naked girl, long hair pulled into one hand while she bent over Hutch's hard, cut cock, still slick from her mouth.

It had been worth the stone cold, silent glares he'd gotten for a solid week afterward.

"I'll probably screw this up," Starsky warned, staring at Hutch's cock. "I'm betting it's much harder from this end."

Hutch's hand landed softly on his cheek, and Starsky looked up.

And, _oh_. There, in the soft blue of Hutch's eyes, was every kind of warmth and understanding Starsky could figure out to ask for.

"You can't screw it up," Hutch said. "All you're doing is looking at me and I nearly can't—" Hutch's head fell back with a thump, and Starsky saw him bite his lip.

"Lowering the bar, huh?"

Hutch chuckled weakly, and that made it all right. They were good.

Starsky reached up and gripped Hutch's cock firmly at the base. Hutch made a sweet, aching sound, without words, and then Starsky couldn't wait anymore.

He bent over and licked softly at the head first, catching the taste of Hutch against his tongue. Not that much different from a woman's taste, which Starsky had always loved—had loved using his tongue and lips, getting messy and slick, because sex was _supposed_ to be messy; if it wasn't, he knew they weren't doing it right.

Hutch's head had bent over at the first touch of Starsky's mouth. He didn't seem to be breathing.

Starsky grinned and let his mouth move in a lazy suck, plenty of tongue and spit, just like he loved it himself. Hutch's low moan drifted down, and Starsky felt Hutch's big hands gripping his shoulders.

They were like a circle—Hutch's hands on him, Starsky's mouth on Hutch, sucking downward as best he could. Not too far, because Hutch's cock was thick, and Starsky was afraid of scraping him. But he felt good in Starsky's mouth, the tender, smooth head and the soft ridge below. Starsky rounded his tongue and felt the shaft sliding against it while he stroked from underneath, slow, slow. He knew how good this was, and his own cock throbbed like he was doing it to himself.

He pulled back for a second to breathe, and that's when his ears turned back on, and he started to hear the choked off sounds Hutch was making.

"Wanna hear you," Starsky said roughly. He bent a little lower, feeling an ache in his neck as he rubbed his mouth against Hutch's tight balls. "Wanna smell you. Taste you all over."

Hutch's cock jerked in Starsky's hand, so he started stroking harder and a little faster.

"You like that, huh? Want to hear what else I want to do to you? I got lots of ideas, Hutch, lots of plans. All the places I want to touch you, use my mouth on you."

"Jesus, Starsk!"

Starsky grinned, bent down and took the head in again, sucking and bobbing this time while he stroked, his mouth making obscene sounds around Hutch's cock. He peered up, trying to see Hutch's face, and Hutch moaned out loud and throbbed in Starsky's mouth.

A second later Starsky tasted Hutch's come as it spurted onto his tongue; not as much as he'd been expecting, but that was fine, because Hutch was still making soft, grateful sounds, and when Starsky swallowed and gave a last lick, Hutch said, "Starsk. Starsk," like he was dying.

Starsky's dick had been twitching in his pants the whole time, trying its damnedest to poke right out of his jeans. He'd never been so turned on, and Hutch hadn't even touched him yet.

God, he hoped Hutch would touch him.

Hutch's hands squeezed Starsky's shoulders, which Starsky took as a signal he was coming out of it. So Starsky climbed up off his knees, which crackled badly as they straightened. This kneeling thing was for kids, and Starsky wasn't a kid anymore, even if he felt like it, looking into Hutch's dazed, wondering face.

"You're amazing," Hutch said hoarsely. "You're just—get over here."

"First, I gotta..." Starsky unbuttoned his fly and let Junior have a little room. He groaned with relief and glanced up to see Hutch staring at his crotch. Starsky shifted onto one hip and cupped himself through his jockeys just to see Hutch's eyes widen.

Licking his lips, Hutch said, "Might as well get rid of those. While you're up."

Starsky grinned and kicked off his sneakers, then pushed off his jeans and his underwear in one quick move. He felt a little embarrassed then, being naked from the waist down, and quickly moved to straddle Hutch's lap, the only way he could figure to get close enough.

Hutch's cords were soft under his ass, and he could feel the muscles of Hutch's thighs shifting to support him. Then Hutch was hauling him down for a kiss.

"God," Hutch said against his lips. "You are the sexiest goddamned thing."

It should have been funny hearing Hutch say that, but instead Starsky felt himself go hotter. He couldn't wait anymore, and reached down to stroke himself, but Hutch's forearm blocked him, and then Hutch wrapped his hand around Starsky's cock.

"Oh, _yeah_." Starsky jolted, helplessly thrusting up into Hutch's warm grip. "Jerk me off. C'mon, c'mon!"

"Hang on." Hutch let go of him to lick his palm, and Starsky held his breath until— _There. Oh, man—_ Hutch gripped him again, his hand slick and sliding down and then up, squeezing him tight. Because he could. Because he knew what it felt like, and his hands were strong enough to do this—jack Starsky with slow, hard strokes.

Starsky found himself making the same, helpless sounds Hutch had tried to smother earlier. And when Hutch leaned forward and nuzzled at Starsky's chest over his T-shirt, Starsky arched his back, begging for Hutch's mouth, which closed around his nipple, biting it through the soft cloth.

"Jesus Christ!" Starsky tried to keep himself still for Hutch's mouth, but at the same time he needed to move, need to rock up and down into the tunnel of Hutch's hand. He felt like a seesaw, tilting between pleasure and his need for more movement.

Like always, Hutch picked up his cue, and started stroking him hard and faster, pumping his fist and using his thumb to rub at the sweet spot just below the head of Starsky's cock.

He should have known it would be like this, that Hutch would get him so completely and give him everything he needed without asking. Starsky arched his back and felt Hutch's other hand slide behind him, supporting him as he started to shudder, coming up on it so fast, so close, until he squeezed his knees around Hutch's thighs and froze, letting Hutch's hand take him over.

God, it was good, his come rushing out of him hard, then swelling over again, and again, like falling waves. Hutch was murmuring to him, something a little embarrassing about _seeing you like that_ , _so beautiful_ , but Starsky didn't feel beautiful, he felt powerful, like he'd just discovered new land—a wide open country.

He couldn't wait to explore it.

ooOoo

  
One of the best things about having sex with a guy, Starsky decided, was afterward nobody bitched about _someone_ getting spunk on the upholstery.

And one of the very best things about having sex with your best friend, Starsky realized, was afterward there was day-old pizza and the Dodgers game.

Sure, Hutch kept looking over and giving him a slightly freaked-out look. But two minutes later, when Starsky yelled at Valenzuela to lose ten pounds and learn to throw a real slider, Hutch looked over again with a soft grin that made Starsky's fingers curl up, he wanted to touch Hutch so bad.

Then Starsky realized he could. He could just shift over and lay his forearm on top of Hutch's thigh and rest his hand on Hutch's knee, and so he did. And Hutch jumped a little, like he'd gone out of that place in his head, but then he wrapped his arm around Starsky's shoulder, and it was all good.

After the game was over, Hutch's arm tightened, but he didn't let go, so Starsky clicked off the TV and turned his head.

Hutch started to say something but then stopped, looking dopey and tongue-tied.

Starsky let him off the hook. "Hey, you want to sleep over?"

"Yeah," Hutch said, sounding like he'd swallowed a tadpole.

"And then you wanna have morning sex?"

Hutch looked startled, and then laughed. "If it's all right with you."

"Yeah, 's all right."

And it was. It finally was.

_Finis._

September 4, 2008  
San Francisco, CA  


**Author's Note:**

>  _Four score and..._ — _[The Gettysburg Address](http://showcase.netins.net/web/creative/lincoln/speeches/gettysburg.htm)_ , Abraham Lincoln, mangled by Starsky.
> 
>  _...to suffer the slings and arrows of our outrageous detecting abilities._ —misquote of [Hamlet's soliloquy](http://www.monologuearchive.com/s/shakespeare_001.html) by Wm. Shakespeare.
> 
>  _The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what we did here._ —Hutch slightly alters _The Gettysburg Address._
> 
>  _Always will we remember the character of the onslaught against us._ —Theodore Roosevelt , _[Pearl Harbor Address to the Nation](http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/fdrpearlharbor.htm)._
> 
>  
> 
> _We shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, in order to assure the survival and the success of liberty. _—Hutch messes with[John F. Kennedy's Inaugural Address](http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/jfkinaugural.htm).__


End file.
